Irrational Fears and Late-Night Talks
by eirayne
Summary: It takes insomnia, a stroll across the deck at midnight, and a heartfelt talk with a friend to get Percy to realize that maybe his fear isn't so irrational after all. Set during the Blood of Olympus (very slight spoilers). Kinda angst-y, so fair warning! Rated T just in case.


**Irrational Fears and Late-Night Talks**

 **a.n.** It takes insomnia, a stroll across the deck at midnight, and a heartfelt talk with a friend to get Percy to realize that maybe his fear isn't so irrational after all. Set during the Blood of Olympus (very slight spoilers) Kinda angst-y, so fair warning! _Hurt/Comfort & Friendship. | Percy J., Piper M. _

**The Argo II | Somewhere in the Ocean**

It's night. The moon is high in the sky. Slivers of light are reflecting off the dark ocean surface below. Waves crash against the hull of the trireme.

And Percy's drowning again.

He's not on the Argo II anymore. The familiarity of his bed beneath him, the swaying of the trireme as it moves with the motion of waves, the Hedge-hologram patrolling the hall as Buford the table ("CUT THAT OUT")—it's all gone.

Replaced. Replaced with memories that threaten to drag him down—deeper and deeper until he's drowning in them, too.

He's back in Alaska, drowning and suffocating in that muskeg, feeling the dirt press against his chest as oxygen leaves his lungs and he's left struggling desperately against the hold the Earth Mother has on him.

He's back in that nymphaeum, fighting back the rising water levels except he _can't do that_ when he can't even fight off his own rising panic. He can't breathe underwater and suddenly drowning's possible and it scares him more than he's willing to admit.

He's back in Tartarus, struggling to keep his head above water when all he wants is to sink in despair. He can breathe but it's unnatural. It's Tartarus and _nothing's_ natural and every instinct in his body is screaming at him to leave except he _can't._ He can't leave, so he sinks.

He's back underwater, swimming through that cloud of poison that's just as dark and heavy as his guilty conscience. He can barely breathe and the poison tears him up from the inside and all he can think of is the misery he felt and the Misery he tortured with her own poison.

Then the water vanishes, the pressure against his chest dissipates, and he's left gasping for air, his legs tangled in his blankets instead of the churning waters. It takes him a minute to realize he's not drowning, he's not suffocating. He's breathing. He's breathing and everything's fine because it was all a dream.

Except nothing's fine because it _wasn't just a dream._ His fear—his irrational, _stupid_ fear isn't a dream. It's real and it won't go away no matter how many times he's told himself how stupid he's being.

He can't drown. So why did he come so close to suffocating in that muskeg, to drowning in that nymphaeum, to giving up in that river, to dying in that cloud of poison? He can't drown, so why he is still sinking under this fear?

 _Because you're being ridiculous,_ he tells himself. _Scared of your own element? Don't be stupid._

He growls at the voice in his head, hauling himself out of bed. He knows sleep is out of his reach, so he doesn't try. Instead, he shuffles out of his room and down the hall, careful to stay quiet in order to refrain from waking his friends.

It's not long before he finds himself up on deck, leaning slightly over the edge of the hull, hands clenched around the rail as the spray from the sea hits his face. He tries to take comfort in it. He tries to find comfort in the sea like he has for years—for _ever._

Instead he's just reminded of his dreams, of his fear— _his stupid, irrational fear—_ and he finds himself grimacing at the thoughts that plague his mind, ducking his head, the grip his hands have on the railing tightening until his knuckles turn white—.

"Percy?"

The voice barely registers. In fact, it doesn't at all until he feels a hand on his shoulder. The hand is gentle, and the voice is concerned, and Percy feels guilty that he's somehow worried someone (or woke them up in the first place) so he turns to face them.

Piper's eyebrows are knitted together, looking concerned but not overly so. It's almost as if she knows he doesn't want pity, and even if that's not true—even if she doesn't understand in the slightest what's been dragging him down, or that anything was weighing him down in the first place—he finds he's grateful.

Her hand falls from his shoulder as he meets her gaze, and she settles for leaning her back against the railing. "Can't sleep?"

It's a simple, innocent question, but Percy can tell there are unasked questions masked by it. She knows something's up.

Percy tears his gaze away from hers, shaking his head. "Nah. Figured some fresh air would help."

Piper's eyes fall, and Percy follows her gaze to his hands—hands that haven't let up their tight grasp on the railing. "I take it that isn't exactly helping?"

"What gave it away?" Percy asked, his voice light. He tried to relax, to lose the tenseness in his muscles, but by the look on Piper's face, he hadn't succeeded in that or in keeping a worrying tone out of his voice.

Piper didn't comment on it, however. She turned her head, facing the opposite end of the deck, staring at nothing in particular. "Dreams keeping you up?"

Percy shook his head—half in disbelief and half as an answer. "Am I that easy to read?"

"No," Piper replies simply. "I guess I've just gotten better at reading people." Her hand reaches up to her hair, fingers playing with a braid. "Besides, you look distracted. Like you're not altogether here. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah," he replies. And he really does—part of him is still drowning somewhere. "How'd you know?"

She shrugs, eyes casting downward toward the deck. "See it in the mirror. Dreams get to the best of us, sometimes. Especially lately."

Her tone doesn't surprise him, nor does her answer. It really isn't that surprising that the nights of a demigod are filled with dreams. Especially when said demigod is halfway around the world on some life-threatening quest where it's normal to battle giants and defy death daily.

No, it doesn't surprise him. It doesn't help him, either. Not that he needs to tell her that.

Piper refocused her gaze on him, studying him. "Something else on your mind?"

He glances down at his hands, relieved to find that he's relaxed enough for the skin around his knuckles to regain their color. He shrugs, attempting to blow the question off even though he knows it won't do any good. Piper can be as stubborn as he can at times, and that's not always a good thing.

Piper sighs and turns around, copying his position as she leans on her elbows, putting most of her weight against the railing. "Percy, you can talk to me. You know that, right?"

He ducks his head, which honestly is an answer in itself. Part of him wants to drop the mask and tell her everything that's been weighing him down. Part of him knows he can't dump all of his problems onto his friends when they've got their own struggles to deal with.

The rest of him wishes he doesn't have to make these kinds of decisions in the first place. He's supposed to be a leader and a friend at the same time—yet how can he open up to his friends, how can he possibly have room to break down when he's still expected to lead them?

Then he meets Piper's eyes and the decisions is made for him.

"I'm scared," he admits, and he tries to ignore the shame those two words brought. He holds her gaze for a second, two, three, then ducks his head again, focusing back on the crashing waves beneath them.

Piper doesn't tease him or laugh at him—not that Percy ever expected her to. She doesn't even look at him. She stares straight ahead, as if knowing he was letting his mask fall and still didn't want to be seen as weak.

(If only he knew that she nor any of his friends could ever see him as weak.)

"Percy, that's nothing to be ashamed of," she finally says. "You've been through a lot, and we still have a harrowing task in front of us. Anyone would be."

He shakes his head roughly. "No, no, you don't get it. It's not that—well, it's not _just_ that. I . . ."

"You, what?" Piper prompts, keeping her voice gentle and level. She glances over at him, but he doesn't meet her eyes, his head still bowed. "I don't get it? Then make me understand. What's eating at you?"

He sighs and hunches over, burying his head in his hands. "It's stupid," he says, and his voice comes out muffled. "It's so _ridiculous,_ but I can't help it and it doesn't go away and—."

"Percy," Piper cuts him off, resting a hand on his forearm. "You can tell me."

A few seconds pass in silence before he replies with a muffled, "Drowning."

Piper frowns in confusion. "What?"

Percy lifts his head from his hands, turning his head to face her. "Drowning. Suffocating. Asphyxiating. Whatever you want to call it. I'm afraid of it."

Piper takes a moment to respond, realizing the tired look in her friend's eyes, realizing that he's afraid, and he's exhausted of being afraid. "You're scared of drowning," she repeats, and he nods, turning away again, head hanging dejectedly.

He waits for the pity, or for her to tell him that there's nothing to fear, that his fear is irrational (which it is).

Instead, she says, "You're not alone, you know," and catches him completely by surprise.

He whips his head back up to face her, eyebrows knitting in confusion. "Huh?"

She shrugs. "You're not the only one who fears something you shouldn't." She exhales. "You're scared of drowning. Of not being able to breathe underwater. And you're ashamed of that because water basically runs through your veins."

When his hesitant nod confirms her speculations, she continues.

"I used to be afraid of love," she admits, hands fidgeting in front of her. "Of falling in love and then having my heart broken. I saw it all around me growing up. I saw it with my dad . . ." She pauses. "I was afraid of love even though my mother is the goddess of the very concept."

"Are you still?" Percy asks, albeit hesitantly—both because he didn't want to push for an answer and because he wasn't sure he wanted to hear her answer.

She hesitates. "At times," she finally decides "And then there are times when I know I just have to have faith that Jason and I's relationship will last."

She takes his hand in a complete sisterly move, threading her fingers in between his. "Percy, my point is—we're demigods. We don't have a lot of reason to be scared of the little things anymore because we deal with all of _this_ on a daily basis. So when we _are_ scared of something, there's good reason."

Despite Piper being the daughter of the love goddess, there's a sort of wisdom to her words that could've easily come from a child of Athena, and Percy finds the comfort in her words that he couldn't find in the ocean.

"Yes, your father's Poseidon," Piper continues. "Yes, you can breathe under water and control water and handle the pressure of water. But that doesn't make your fear of drowning in water any more ridiculous, or irrational."

Percy scowls. "It doesn't? But—."

"No 'buts'," Piper insists. "Percy, you grew up around and in the water. You've grown used to relying on your powers. If my powers suddenly failed me at a crucial time, I'd be pretty terrified, too."

He's silent for a minute, absorbing her words. She doesn't talk either. Her hand remains where it's clasped in Percy's.

Finally, she says quietly, "You're allowed to be afraid, Percy. There's no shame in that. And, honestly?"

Percy glances up to meet her eyes once more. "Yeah?"

"Being brave isn't the same as being fearless," Piper says. "Being brave—being courageous—that's rising above your fears. It's knowing your fears, and accepting your fears, and understanding that one day you'll become stronger than your fears."

He doesn't say anything, so she continues.

"You know, Leo used to fear his fire," she says, almost conversationally. At his confused look, she goes on. "Jason's been terrified of failing the people—the friends—he leads. Hazel was afraid of her gems, and of dying. Frank's scared of war—that the battlefield will take another loved one's life from him. And Annabeth? She's terrified that one day her logic-trained brain is going to lead her the wrong way—that she'll refuse to listen to her heart and she'll make the wrong choice.

"Every one of us has doubts, Percy," she assures. "Every one of us has fears, regrets, and insecurities." She squeezed his hand comfortingly. _"You are not alone."_

Percy stares at her, his mouth slightly open, before he engulfs her in a hug. She lets out a little laugh, wrapping her own arms around him.

"Thank you, Piper," he breathes, his forehead pressed against her shoulder. "I seriously needed that."

When he pulls away, she gives him a gentle smile. "Anytime, Percy. Besides," she shrugs. "Emotions are kinda my thing."

Percy chuckles incredulously. "Yeah, I noticed." A pensive expression replaced the smile. "I hate that I'm so scared of drowning. I feel—in some strange way—like I'm betraying my father. Like I'm fearing his realm without a real reason. It only got worse in . . . in Tartarus."

"Control your fear, Percy," Piper advises. "Not the other way around. Don't let your fear control you or your powers. You have to embrace the fear and work with it, not against it. Only then can you overcome it."

Percy manages a small smile. "Wise words from the daughter of Aphrodite."

"Learned from experience," Piper replies vaguely. "Nothing like being stuck in a temple where logic has no meaning and emotions are everything to teach you about fear."

"I bet," Percy agrees. He shoots Piper one more smile as the daughter of Aphrodite turns to head back below deck, then turns to call out, "Oh, Piper?"

She turns.

"Just know that I really appreciated that," he says honestly.

She smiles amiably. "As long as you promise to remember you're never alone."

Then she disappears below deck, and Percy's left to his thoughts—thoughts that don't seem to weigh him down as much anymore. He feels lighter, more relaxed, and—dare he say it—a little safer as he sways with the gentle rocking of the boat, staring up at the stars that dot the heavens.

It's night. The moon is high in the sky. Slivers of light are reflecting off the dark ocean surface below. Waves crash against the hull of the trireme.

And Percy can breathe again.

* * *

 **a.n. i kinda like how that turned out. took a couple of tries but i think i finally got it to where my perfectionism isn't pestering me to change everything. this is my first story on fanfiction, so thanks for reading and please review! :)**

 **-eira-**


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